


Sweet Potatos and Sign Language

by vargling



Series: je suis amoureux de toi [3]
Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, First Meetings, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, they're shipwrecked, willow's kind of insane from being lost at sea for a bit, yknow once i update
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-13 02:50:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18023351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vargling/pseuds/vargling
Summary: Being stuck at sea, chased by shadows and nightmares, and near starving were all things that Willow could deal with. Finding another person in the mess of a jungle and suddenly being overwhelmed with the need to stick with him and take care of him... well, that's something Willow's not really so sure about yet.





	Sweet Potatos and Sign Language

**Author's Note:**

> more wes/willow works!!!! also i take requests! just drop a comment and i'll try and write something for you :3

Willow had been drifting on a tattered log raft for what seemed like weeks now. Somewhere amongst the rough blue waves, she’d forgotten how she even got there. She had nothing but Bernie, her lighter, and a spear made from a snapped branch and shattered seashell. During the day, Willow would cover all the skin she could with her light sweater, desperately trying to avoid heat stroke, while the sun unforgivingly beat down on the raft. From time to time, she’d dip her hands in the warm water and splash her face, then return to hiding in the sweater. Once the sun had finally set, Willow would peek out from the sweater and paddle. As the moon rose, Bernie‘s eyes looked less like buttons, and the fire starter swore that he got up to paddle alongside her.

When she wasn’t hiding or paddling, Willow would grab the seashell spear and poke into the water, looking for fish or seaweed — anything edible, really. It wasn’t often that she would drag a loose strand of seaweed up out of the water, and it was even less common for a fish to be close enough to skewer. Willow swore that she heard Bernie whispering about her ribs poking out. She was desperate to get to land.

Greens of trees and the pale yellows of sand caught Willow‘s eyes more times than she could count now. Every time, she would scramble to get untangled from her sweater, pull off her heels and skirt, then dive into the water to kick her way to land. When she’d paddled for a good while and the island seemed no closer than before, Willow would climb back onto the raft and watch with tears as the island vanished before her eyes. Bernie muttered something about mirages. Willow was used to him speaking by now.

Days later, Willow could barely paddle anymore. There was another smear of color on the horizon — another mirage, she supposed. She couldn’t bring herself to even push herself up from her position laying on the rough wood of the raft to look at the would-be island. Instead, Willow cradled her lighter and pulled at her sweater, closing her eyes.

“Land.” A hiss made Willow jolt up, clambering for her spear. There was nothing there except for Bernie, standing wobbly on the raft, and an abundance of seaweed. Looking around, Willow took in the clear shallow water and the sound of the small waves against sand. It was so close, she could reach down into the water and paddle with her hands a short distance to shore.

So that‘s what Willow did. And nothing could compare in that moment to the feeling of her heels sinking into the sand and the unwavering ground beneath her feet. 

 

Willow spent hours celebrating, laying on the ground and running her fingers through the sand. Bernie had sat down, eyes sinking back and morphing into sewn-on black buttons. The growl of Willow’s stomach pulled her back into reality, and she almost reluctantly went to work. Her seashell spear didn’t do much to whack down the weeds and vines, but eventually she stumbled into a grassy field. The water wasn’t visible from here through the trees and thick foliage, letting Willow relax. There were sprouts coming from little mounds in the dirt, which Willow dug at until a little potato popped from the ground. Finally, food.

Raw potato wasn’t much her style, but it would have to do until she could set up something a little more sustainable. Willow made a circle in the grass with rocks she found scattered through the grass, then pulled the grass out from the circle as best as she could. Next was the kindling which Willow set gently in the circle. The pulled grass, various twigs, and dead jungle leaves was too enticing to leave alone, so the fire starter elected to set it ablaze with her lighter before scrambling to pull down branches and vines thick enough to sustain the fire through the night. 

The sun set as Willow roasted the potato over the fire. It didn‘t look appetizing… maybe tomorrow she‘d catch a crab or bird for dinner. Night sounded different on the island than on the ocean. Instead of endless, dizzying waves, there were snakes and trees rustling. Willow found it comforting until the rustling of wind through leaves started to sound more like crunching footsteps instead. Immediately getting up, Willow brandished her shell spear and squinted around, trying to make out shapes in the dark. 

“Who’s there?” She croaked, voice cracking and aching in her throat from lack of use. With a click, the lift arm lighter flickered to life, illuminating a short distance in front of Willow. There wasn’t anything. “Come out,” she tried again, louder.

Another rustle in the jungle made Willow jump, swinging her spear in the noise’s direction. Vines and branches snapped and popped under footsteps. She could barely make out the glow of two scared blue eyes staring back at her, but not making any motion to come any closer.

Willow slowly bent down to set the spear on the ground, then stood with her hands up near her head. She took a deep breath in, then steeled herself.

“I won’t hurt you,” she cooed, stepping slowly closer to the figure in the dark. As she approached, she could make out the silhouette of a tall man, hunched over and terrified. “I promise,” she reassured him. The man took a tentative step towards Willow. He looked like a deer caught in headlights with the way his wide eyes darted from Willow to her lighter, then to her spear on the ground. As he slowly came closer, Willow could see his black and red turtleneck, tucked into high waisted black pants, and the snapped branch he held close to his chest with shaking hands. His face was painted white with black lipstick and red cheeks.

“I’m Willow. What’s your name? How’d you get here? Where are we?”

The man’s face scrunched. He stuck his branch in the dirt before making shapes with his hands. He held up three fingers, then curled his fingers onto his thumb, then shifted his thumb to cover his index and middle fingers. Willow’s eyebrows furrowed.

“I don’t… understand. I’m sorry.”

Unfazed, the man pulled his branch from the ground and cleared the leaves quickly before scratching lines into the dirt: WES.

“That’s your name?”

He nodded.

“That’s a nice name,” Willow sighed. “You can’t talk?”

He shook his head.

“That’s okay. You can stay with me tonight if you want. I have a fire going.”

Wes’s eyes light up and he nods enthusiastically, dropping the branch back into the dirt before eagerly skittering up to the fire to warm up. Willow almost didn’t notice the shadow hands that just barely missed hooking fingers in his collar. She plucked her spear off the ground and trotted after Wes, itching to get back to the fire as well. 


End file.
